


Steam and Shadows

by palomino333



Series: Welcome to the NWR [2]
Category: Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends, Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: 1960s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Head Injury, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Music, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Old Married Couple, Older Man/Younger Man, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Scars, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-07 08:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: Companion piece to "Toward the Dusk." “Take it from someone who knows, sometimes dreams are all that they are." The Flying Kipper crashes, and modernization begins to creep into Sodor.





	1. Chapter 1

"The Flying Kipper?" Henry stared at the train as he passed by it, looking over the clipboard in his hand. The trucks didn't smell particularly good, but he figured that, if it would bring him the opportunity to pull the Express, it would be worth it. Especially considering how his engine was a white elephant. His hard work, he thought to himself, was about to pay off. Placing the clipboard away, he climbed up onto his engine.

"Henry!" Pausing on the stair, he turned, steam rising from the machine to see Gordon striding up to him. A hand was held in the air, with a silver chain trailing from it. The big man's blue eyes gleamed. "You're going to be late!" Lowering the pocket watch, he placed it back into his coat pocket. "Not a good habit to keep. You aren't ready to pull the Express yet, I deem!"

Henry huffed at that. "I thought you'd never come around to the idea!"

"I haven't," he replied with a shrug, turning on the platform, his long coat's tail swishing with the movement, "but I suppose if you're willing to take a gamble on the Flying Kipper in the middle of winter, then you're either mad, or braver than I thought."

Henry grinned at that. "I'll take it. Well then, best we be off." Clambering up with his fireman, Henry worked the controls, breathing life into his temperamental engine. He leaned slightly outward to see Gordon, who gave him a companionable nod. Henry reach up and took his hat in his hand to wave in a carefree motion. Gordon smiled at that and lifted his hat to hold in the air as a good-bye.

A pity the journey, while promising at first, didn't end in such a fashion. His teeth gritted, Henry yanked hard on the controls, his fireman scrambling about alongside him, and the guard swearing over the radio about the idiot who rigged the signal wrong. The engines wheezed and protested Henry's iron grip. Sweat beaded on his brow, and dripped, the veins popping on his neck. The break van loomed before him as his engine rattled under him. He couldn't lose his train, not now, not when he was so close.

His breaths snarled out of his nose and mouth, drool falling from the corners of it. Something whistled, clanked, and struck Henry's head. He saw stars for a moment and gave a thought to how much that was going to hurt. The next moment, he was leaning heavily over the controls, with blood running down the side of his head.

"Henry, come on!" He blearily looked up to see his fireman, who was jerking at his hands. The radio was silent, the guard had having already jumped out of the brake van. "Henry, if you don't let go of the controls, I will throw you off this engine myself!"

Henry glanced back at the controls, which were continuing to seize and lock. Swallowing back a growl of frustration, he let go. He reached for his head, but the fireman grabbing his hand, yanking it down with a shake of the head, and tugged him out after him. Snow whipped by the two men. The fireman jumped first. With a final glance at his engine, his hand braced on the tender, Henry jumped, as well.

His vision dimmed from the shock of pain as he hit the ground. Inhaling snow by mistake, he lurched along the ground to cough it out. Henry breathed heavily, his lungs and throat feeling as if they were aflame. Propping himself on his elbows, he struggled to rise, slipping once. With a groan, he pushed himself up, toddling a few steps, his hand splayed out toward his green engine, which was sprawled, broken, on its side.

Tears ran down Henry's cheeks at how unfair it all was.

"Daddy, Daddy!" He tugged on his father's pant leg, "I want to see the train! Please, Daddy, oh please!"

His father chuckled, and hoisted Henry up to sit on his shoulders. Henry laughed and clapped his hands as the steam locomotive whooshed by. "Wow! I want to drive one someday!"

He'd fucked that up big time.

"Henry!" Feet pounded after him. He slipped on the snow with a gasp, and collapsed to the ground, staring at the burning wreck before him.

Hands gently prodded him, and someone was, from a distance, it seemed, telling him that it would be all right as his vision faded to black.

XXXXXX

The corridor between the men and women's locker rooms was silent as the Fat Controller, his top hat in his hands, stood before the assembled group of drivers, crewmen and women, and rolling stock attendants. Divided as they were across their functions, ages, and experience, everyone had the semblance of a shocked expression as he stated, "It is with regret that I must inform all of you gathered here that your co-worker, Henry Payne, has been in an accident. He has survived but is badly injured. His engine will be undergoing extensive repairs."

Several pairs of eyes lowered as he continued, "This is a hazardous job that each of you performs on this railway. I emphasize again to each of you the importance of safety and paying attention while on the rails." Thomas felt Annie's hand squeezing his shoulder at that. "For Henry's privacy, I will not be disclosing the location of where he has been hospitalized until he is lucid. However, all trains running to Wellsworth have been cancelled for the time being. I advise those of you who are working tonight to use added caution. For the remainder, I request that each of you are careful are your way home. That is all."

"Do you want to head home together?" James inquired to Gordon as the crowd dispersed, lengthening his strides to catch up to him.

"Not particularly," Gordon replied, his tone off-hand. He didn't bother looking back at James, who scowled at him, "There is no need to attach sentiment to this."

"What about Henry?" James inquired, his tone catching.

Gordon turned sharply at that. "What then, James? We wax sentimental about him? It helps nothing. I would prefer not to indulge."

"Glad to know that you're still the cold bastard you've always been, Gordon," James muttered, stopping.

Gordon paused, and, keeping his back to James, replied, "And you are still the petulant child you have always been. Good night."

James ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, prepping himself to spit. Thinking better of it, he swallowed back the saliva, and went off in the opposite direction, feeling weighed down by the events of the day. The others had already departed, leaving industrial clangs and the howling wind beyond. Train whistles sounded in the distance.

James placed his back against a ticket booth's exterior wall, and slid down to sit on the ground, emotionally drained from the near loss of his friend. Henry's engine having problems was common knowledge, but he didn't think this would ever happen to him.

A pair of shoes stopped before him, and he raised his head.

Edward held out a hand to him, and James avoided it, standing up to brush himself off. "Thought you'd gone home," he muttered.

"I was on my way," he replied, "Would you care to join me?"

James felt half-compelled to say no but decided otherwise. "All right, let's be off."

Lights flared, shooting through the night fog as the trains ran. The two left the station grounds and made their way to the crowded bus station. Gordon, James noted silently, was already gone.

Thomas and Percy were crowded onto one seat, Percy's fear quieting him. Edward stopped before their seat, and had a quiet conversation with them, while James moved onward. Annie was powdering her nose, while Clarabel, her hands folded, hummed quietly to herself.

James leaned his head against the window as the bus lurched, closing his eyes. At the sound of a gentle sigh, he opened an eye in surprise to see that Edward did keep to his word. For a moment, he considered the prospect of shoving him out of the seat, as he felt as if he was being looked down upon. Edward had shared his aged wisdom with Percy and Thomas, and now he was going to share it with him, as well, to keep up the illusion that he knew everything.

However, what stayed his hand was the exhaustion that showed upon Edward's face. Edward looked tired and sad as James felt, and he realized that the older man had been masking it, previously, for Thomas and Percy. James leaned away from it to stare out the window. "My flat's a bit out of your way," he commented doubtfully.

"That's all right," Edward replied gently.

The bus was very nearly empty by the time James pulled the cord above his head. Reaching over, he shook Edward's shoulder. The man blinked his eyes open and nodded as James rose.

"Good night, you two," Bertie called after them.

"I'll be back," Edward replied, turning to glance back at the driver.

"Just be there in time for the last bus out," Bertie replied, holding up a hand before shutting the door to drive off.

Edward glanced about in surprise as they departed from the bus station. It was a more industrialized area of Sodor close to the docks. The buildings were squatter, and packed closely together, bearing gray tones. Paper rustled across the road.

James shrugged. "Not as graceful surroundings as you had thought?"

Edward sidestepped the barb, knowing that James was trying to goad him into fighting with him. "I assumed nothing," he replied simply.

"I suppose that's a relief, then," he commented with a bitter note in his voice.

Street lamps burned overhead as they moved down the road, their coats odd splotches of color. A few sidelong glances were cast in their direction, and James, much to his own annoyance, had to drop backward to say to Edward, "I'd recommend leaving sooner, rather than later." Edward gave a slight nod at that, and James turned back, swallowing back his disdain at the other man slowing him down. "Another block, and we're there."

A rectangular building loomed before them, James leading Edward through a doorway to reveal that it was hollow within. A courtyard stood with brown grass and a skeletal tree. The apartments were packed together in rows, the doors shut. James ascended a set of stairs on the side, grimacing at the salt and muck on them.

James noticed that Edward was falling behind again, and slowed his strides, placing his hand over the railing. Edward waved him on, and James scowled, tapping his foot, "Would you just hurry up?"

Edward stopped, with several stairs separating them. "I can call it a night, James," he replied evenly, "You are home, after all."

James huffed in frustration, hitting his foot hard against the stair once as he ceased his tapping. Edward ambled up to him, and they continued along, James gnawing at the inside of his cheek in frustration. Wall lights cast over them, with muffled conversations reaching their ears past the doors. An unpleasant-sounding argument, its volume gradually increasing, was among them. James sighed, and mumbled, "Oh great," under his breath.

Something shattered, causing Edward's eyes to widen. He paused. "I think something just broke in there."

James turned back to look at him, and in a sharp tone, replied, "Don't get involved."

Edward stared at him, and James strode over to him, grasping his arm. "Edward," he emphasized, his voice clipped, "Come on, this doesn't concern you."

Edward was about to argue when he heard the urgency in James's tone, and felt the tight grip of his friend's hand. James stood unwaveringly. "Well, I suppose," he replied quietly, his tone not approving.

Satisfied with his answer, James let go, and continued down the row. A bare black bulb stood over a door, and James muttered in annoyance, "Burned out again?"

Glancing up at it, Edward asked, "Are you sure you want to stay the night here?"

"Where else would I stay?" James questioned, "I'll just make sure the door's locked tonight. Once my lease is up next year, I'm going to look into other arrangements."

"That would be wise," Edward replied, brushing past his previous question. Offering a room to James would be too forward, for as much as he was concerned about him.

James sighed as he turned the key in the lock, shouldering the door open. "If the Fat Controller doesn't completely overhaul Henry's engine, he's as good as done, anyway," he said pessimistically.

Edward placed his hands in his coat pockets. "Nothing has been determined, yet. I recall the repairs your engine needed after the truck incident." Pivoting on his heel, James kept close to the threshold. Normally, he would have given a snide remark to him for mentioning the incident, but he decided against it. Edward noticed the apartment door was slowly closing, blocking the man more from his vision with each moment. He felt as if he wanted to catch the door, and pull it back open, but he didn't want to impose. Those sad brown eyes kept staring at him all the while, and he said, "James, you aren't alone."

James gave a heavy sigh. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"I won't judge you," Edward replied gently, holding out a hand, "Henry is your friend, as he is mine. You have every right to feel upset."

James looked down at it and paused. Glancing back up at the older man, he replied, "Edward, please, spare me my pride."

Edward's hand fell. "All right. I'll see you tomorrow." James pulled the door shut. Turning, Edward headed off, absent-mindedly rubbing his gloved hands together with a somber frown on his face.

The door cracked back open, and James stared out after where Edward had taken his leave. He lowered his dark gaze to the ground before closing it again.

Across town, a glass clinked from the ice that was dropped into it. A bottle of scotch tilted on its side, dumping amber liquid into it. Gordon threw back the hard liquor, allowing it to burn his throat. He normally didn't drink this much, but the occasion warranted it. Henry did have the nicest smile, he thought forlornly to himself. He supposed it was the alcohol that made it feel as if his tear ducts were burning.

XXXXXX

When Henry came to in the hospital, he felt as if he was floating above his bed. While the nurses and doctor were kind to him, it disturbed him how he was trapped within his own body. The crash replayed itself over in his mind multiple times, and he was expecting to see a pink slip. However, the only item that did appear from work was a vase of yellow roses. "Courtesy of Sir Topham Hatt," the nurse explained as she placed them in water.

He wasn't sure what to make of it all, and the hospital drugs weren't helping. A nurse held up a mirror to him to show what his head looked like. Henry would have cringed if he could have. The hair on the right side of his head had been sheared off to allow for the wound he had sustained to be more properly tended to. There was a bandage on the right side of his head, currently stained brown. He thought he looked ridiculous.

His dreams were strange, as well. He dreamt mostly of snow and ice, and at times, dreamt that he himself was his engine. He also dreamt of faces, usually those of the other drivers, silently surrounding him before disappearing. On rare occasions, he dreamt that Gordon came to visit him, sitting on the edge of his bed, shutting the curtains, smoothing out the hair on the left side of his head, or arranging the flowers for him.

Opening his eye, Henry muttered, "Gordon, what're you doing here?"

"I'm sorry?" A nurse quietly asked in surprise.

"Nothing," Henry murmured, closing his eyes again.

While in this haze, he thought he heard Clarabel's voice in the distance. Turning his head, he saw her long copper hair, clipped back under her hat's netting as she whispered to his nurse with a bundle in her hands. The hall light was ghostly, with their shadows cast long. He drifted back under as something rustled on his beside tray.

Waking up, he saw that a small bouquet of lilies had been placed in a bottle on the tray. "Who sent them?" He asked drowsily.

The nurse shrugged. "The card just said, 'From a friend.'" He gave mind to the fact that a coach attendant's qualifications included experience in medicine before drifting again.

He was slowly taken off the drugs, and, with assistance, was guided about the room under the doctor's supervision. With a nod, the doctor decided, "You're coming along well, Mr. Payne. I recommend, however, about three more weeks' time. With your operating heavy machinery, we can't afford to take any risks."

"Yes, sir," he replied doubtfully, concerned that he probably wouldn't have a job awaiting him upon his return.

Still, it was nice to see his crew when they visited.

Henry slowly sat up, his fireman supporting him. "Hurts like hell, but I suppose it could feel worse."

His guard nodded as he lit his pipe. "Well, old boy, for as odd is it sounds, it was perhaps for the best that the wreck had occurred. Your engine is being overhauled at Crewe."

"I'm sorry?" Henry asked blankly, looking between both of his crewmen, who smiled.

"That's right," his fireman replied, "the engine is being reformatted into a new type altogether, an LMS Stanier Class 'Black Five,' in fact. We've seen the work on it, thus far." Reaching into his pocket, he presented a photo to Henry, who slowly held it up to examine it.

His hand shook slightly, as he felt overwhelmed by his second chance. "It's beautiful," he commented quietly.

"We'll be happy to ride with you, as soon as you are better," his guard stated fondly.

Handing the picture back to the fireman, Henry replied with a smile, "Thank you. Now, in the meantime, how have you two been? How are the children, Sidney?" His fireman, after pocketing the photo, gladly launched into a story about his daughter's dance recital.

Over the next week, James appeared, dropping himself onto the beside chair, crossing one leg over the other, and presenting Henry with a biscuit tin. "Thought it would be a welcome break from the hospital food."

Thanking him, Henry took one before pushing the tin back toward him. Biting moodily into a Cornish fairing, James grumbled, "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to see you earlier. The Fat Controller didn't want anyone to until you were well enough."

Henry chuckled. "Suddenly I'm proving to be quite popular."

James's face slowly fell. "Hasn't anyone other than us been in to see you?"

Henry contemplated the half-eaten Jammie Dodger in his hand. "No, why?"

"Haven't you family?"

He shrugged and gave the typical answer. "Mum died five years ago. Dad died of a broken heart, so the neighbors said. I don't have any siblings."

James gave a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Henry glanced up at him. "Why should you? Work is work. Home is another thing entirely. I'd rather you see me now, anyway, as opposed to when I was drugged to the gills."

James grinned. "Oh, I've seen you drunk before."

The tin slid as Henry shoved it back to him. "Eat your biscuits, Jimmy."

James broke into a laugh at that, and Henry relaxed, glad to have glossed over the unpleasant subject.

Gordon, by contrast, stood beside the chair, his one hand on the back of it as if posing for a painting. "I'm glad to see you're coming along well."

Henry brushed his hand close to his bandages. "Not very attractive, but at least it's temporary." Lowering his hand, he said, "I suppose it could've been worse. I could've been out of a job."

"It was an accident," he replied, letting go of the chair.

Henry glanced at him sidelong. "Must be nice, having an imperfect copy of your model being erased from existence."

He waved a hand dismissively, scowling. "Don't bring that into this. It's in bad taste."

"Being dishonest is in bad taste," Henry corrected him. Bending his knee, he propped his elbow on it. "Get it into the open now. I don't want it to be between us when I come back to work."

Gordon tilted his head to the side, a black lock of hair falling past his ear as he folded his arms behind his back. "You want honesty, Henry? Fine, then." Clearing his throat, he began to pace back and forth before his friend's hospital bed. "Personally, I'm quite glad that that wreck of a machine you called an engine has been reformatted into something somewhat serviceable. It was a disgrace to my engine, and the legacy of the LNER it bears. Furthermore, it's the product of pilfered blueprints; it's not even a failed invention, but a scoundrel's white elephant." Pausing before Henry, he added, "And what annoyed me the most about it was that you could do better than that. No matter how often that piece of scrap metal failed, you never gave up on it. But then again, you never had a choice, did you? It was the best you could do with what you were offered. And, to be quite honest, that is the maddening part of it. It was a waste of your effort and time." Henry swallowed as Gordon's expression softened. "You have another chance, now, with this better model. Make something of yourself with it, Henry."

Henry gave a nod after a few moments of silence. "Thank you." Gordon excused himself a short time afterward.

Much to Henry's surprise, he was greeted with a banner welcoming him back. Edward gave him a handshake. James slapped him on the back. Thomas popped a cork on a champagne bottle while Percy cheered. Gordon remained silent, away from the rest of the group, his arms folded. Henry, however, noticed the smile upon his face.

It wasn't until the festivities ended that Henry recalled once mentioning to Gordon that he preferred lilies, while watching a girl selling flowers near the platform.

Cameras flashed from the local press as Henry followed the Fat Controller, his crew in tow, to his new engine, and climbed aboard. He couldn't resist pulling the whistle, announcing his new future.

As time passed, he noticed the tension between Gordon and James. They tended to avoid each other and argue over small details. While their arguments tended to gentle or cease whenever Henry was nearby, the looks of disdain they gave each other said more than enough.

Gordon altered his habits in a palpable way, that being he tended to leave with Henry at the end of the day. While Henry didn't entirely mind the company, he found that he preferred the times when he returned home alone. Invalid, he was not.

"I don't feel very well," Henry commented quietly to James one night. Dripping water from his railway canteen into his hands, he splashed the water onto his face.

"What's wrong?" James asked, placing his hand against the back of his shoulder, and looking over him in concern.

Henry watched James's outline waver. "I'm dizzy. I can't seem to find my center of gravity." He put out a hand to the nearest wall, and James helped him to sit down on a bench.

"Stay here," James commanded before turning to run off. Henry put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. He had pushed himself too hard, as of late, and was paying for it.

At the sound of James's returning voice, he glanced up to see James and Gordon off in the distance, James gesturing toward Henry from time to time as he spoke. Henry wanted to rise, and move over to them, but decided against it, being too tired. Their expressions were clearly unhappy, with each man seeming to want to push a point against the other. However, as he watched, their expressions appeared to relax, with James giving a nod, and backing away. Turning from Gordon, he leapt into the darkness, his boots crunching on the gravel beneath the platform as he landed.

Gordon paused and knelt before him. Henry was surprised at that, but didn't have much time to think on it as Gordon inquired, "Can you walk?"

"I can," he replied quietly.

"All right. I'm taking you home."

The bus ride home and the subsequent walk passed in a flurry of light and voices. Gordon was saying something as Henry walked up the front steps to his house. The key, after a try, clicked into the lock, and Henry leaned forward, feeling overly tired.

Henry's breath drew short, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Charging forward, Gordon caught him before he hit the concrete. He shook his friend, but Henry lay silent in his arms, unconscious. Pushing against the door with his shoulder, Gordon half-carried Henry inside.

Leaning backward, he shut the door with his foot, and quickly glanced about, having little time to take in his surroundings. His eyes landed on a couch, and he made a beeline for it, lying Henry's limp body upon it. Kneeling over him, he gently hit against the sides of Henry's face. "Henry, Henry!" He called repeatedly. Frustration sunk in as Henry continued not to respond. With a glance down, Gordon sighed, deciding that if this didn't work, he would call for an ambulance.

Undoing Henry's coat to allow him room to breathe, and exposing the waistcoat and shirtsleeves beneath, he picked up his wrist in one hand. In the other, he grasped his pocket watch, and timed Henry's pulse against it. He nodded at it as he felt the man beneath him stirring. Gordon allowed Henry's wrist to slip loose from his grip, and slid backwards, He put his pocket watch away as Henry blinked blearily at him.

It was hardly a compromising position, but it was still one that Gordon would rather have not found himself in. Straightening up, he commented, "Good, you're conscious."

Henry rolled his head to the side, catching it in his hand. "Well, that was embarrassing," he muttered.

"Not entirely," Gordon replied, reaching for his gloves, "Perhaps it would have been better for you, had you paced yourself better. Button your coat, you're going to see the physician."

Henry rolled his eyes at him. "Then you would have insulted me for not moving quickly enough. On that note, I am not sick, only tired."

"Hence why I said the physician, not the hospital," he replied evenly, and when the other man continued to sit, "Sometime today would be nice, Henry."

Grumbling, Henry refastened his coat, and followed him back to his apartment's door. "Thank you, I suppose."

"It was something any decent man would have done," Gordon replied dismissively, pulling the door open as a punctuation.


	2. Chapter 2

The club was lit in soft blues and reds as Toby and Henrietta swayed on the dance floor, the colors catching on the silvering strands of her braid. "They're in their own little world," Daisy commented with a chuckle from where she sat with Mavis.

Mavis put her chin in her hand. "It's too bad that such boring music has to be played for them, though. What I wouldn't give for something with more of a beat."

Daisy smirked. "Do you want to rain on their parade?"

Mavis chuckled. "I've done that enough. Perhaps I'll give him a night off." A figure moved toward them past the bar, bearing a small try with three glasses on it. "Ah, Molly brought the beer! Good woman." Reaching out, Mavis took a flask from the tray to hold in the air as a toast. Molly set down the tray, allowing Daisy to grab her glass.

"Have I missed anything?" She asked, sitting down with them.

"Nope, you're just in time, actually." Reaching into her purse, Daisy pulled out a white, thin object. "Behold!" With a flourish, she unfurled the fan to flap it, holding it up under her eyes in a beckoning gesture.

Mavis waved her hand at the strong scent of perfume wafting from it. With a chuckle, Daisy shut the fan, and handed it over to Molly, who unfolded and toyed with waving it about. "The only prop I still have from my modeling days," she commented, her curls bouncing as she reached back into her bag to produce three photographs.

A younger Daisy was in them, clad in a one-piece bathing suit, her dark skin contrasting the white sand. One had her lounging on the beach, another had a close-up of her in sunglasses, and a third had her chasing a beach ball. Glancing over them, Mavis smiled as she raised her glass to her lips. "How far did you get?"

"Milan," Daisy replied, a bittersweet note in her voice as she folded one leg over the other, "After that, the money ran out. Modeling isn't cheap." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sang cabaret, danced in a few strip clubs, and waited tables in several bars until I got back. I felt like a disgrace, but at least there's work to be had here. Besides," she ran her finger along the rim of her glass, "I can keep my clothes on for this job."Mavis and Molly exchanged glances at that, and Daisy's gaze sharpened, her wrist dropping as she picked up her glass. "Take it from someone who knows, sometimes dreams are all that they are."

"Oh tush," Mavis replied, holding up the photo of Daisy in sunglasses for emphasis, "At least you tried to do something with your life. You could've been a factory wench like me until the Dieselworks hired, no offense," she added as an aside to Molly.

"None taken," Molly replied, lying down the fan, "You ever consider singing for us sometime, Daisy?"

"No thanks, I'd rather not embarrass myself," she replied with a wave of the hand, terminating the conversation.

From a table across the room, Thomas's gaze followed Molly for a few moments as she talked with the other women. With a sigh, he turned back to his own table. Percy, noticing his melancholy, said, "Oh come on, Thomas. You're not at work, right now. It's all right."

"I know, but we're both in trouble ," he commented, averting his eyes, "If we continue to see each other, people would assume the worst."

"Others' assumptions don't matter, though," Duck prodded, "I should know that better than anyone. What matters is the Fat Controller's perception."

"Which is only so good, given the amount of second chances he's given the diesel drivers," Oliver grumbled.

"Speaking of which, where's BoCo?" Percy asked, "He should be here by now."

"Oh wait, there he is." Thomas held up a hand and waved over a tall man with platinum blonde hair. Robert "BoCo" Conway's dark brown eyes flashed in the change of light direction as he joined them at the table. Oliver slid a glass over to him.

"Sorry about that. Some kid was trying to steal Diesel's motorcycle," he explained, swirling the liquid around his glass before taking a drink, "I've told him more than once to lock the bike better."

"Would have served him right," Duck commented, strands of his red hair falling over his forehead as he bent forward to light his cigar. BoCo shrugged and continued to stare at his drink. "Something on your mind?" Duck inquired.

"Got a letter from me brother, back on the mainland. My engine's class is continuing to suffer accidents. Several are already slated for decommission," he stared thoughtfully into his drink, envying the fact that Donald was able to smuggle Douglas and his engine onto Sodor. His own brother wouldn't be so lucky. "I'm not sure what me brother's going to do. He's applying to be retrained for another engine, but things aren't looking so good. His controller appears to be more concerned with modernization."

Duck exchanged a glance with Oliver, and the latter replied, "I'm sorry to hear that. Does he need anything?"

BoCo glanced up at that. "While I appreciate the offer, he wouldn't take it. He'd be too proud to accept it. Anyway, what did I miss?" Thomas tugged at his collar and stood up from the table to stride off. "Apparently nothing," BoCo commented dryly.

Thomas headed over to Molly's table, where she was currently seated with Daisy and Mavis. With a mock bow, he extended a hand to her. Molly shyly shook her head and waved a "no thank you," but Daisy and Mavis encouraged her to get up. With a quick nod, she stood, and, grasping Thomas's hand, walked with him to the dance floor. Percy and BoCo held up their drinks to Thomas and Molly, the former giving a wink, and the latter raising her hand in a wave, the lights catching on the black braid that wound about her head. Taking her other hand, Thomas guided her into a dance, spinning past Toby and Henrietta.

"It's not right," Percy said disdainfully, rocking backward on his chair, "All Thomas and Molly did was neck under the water tower. It's not like they were stealing anything! And it was after nightfall, too!"

Duck gave a puff on his cigar at that, and Oliver watched the blue smoke curl into the air. For as annoyed as he was, he knew that he and Duck had had their own near miss, with Theodore "Toad" Drummond having to physically shove the two of them into a storage shed to keep from being caught in the middle of an embrace.

"You are the reason my hair is gray already," Toad grumbled as he lay on a bench, holding his canteen up to his head like an icepack. Duck was filling his canteen at the water pump and pretended not to hear. However, Oliver couldn't mistake the blush on his lover's face, which he knew that he himself was also wearing. He thanked his old friend profusely.

BoCo frowned. "To be fair, Percy, fraternization isn't allowed."

The front legs of Percy's chair hit the floor. "But it was Dean Tenpenny who reported Thomas. He's done worse, and not been reprimanded."

"Because he hasn't been caught. There's your issue," Oliver reminded him.

Noticing the gears beginning to turn in Percy's head, BoCo cautioned, "Percy, don't think of it."

"What? It's not like I would be provoking him into doing anything," he replied defensively.

"No, but trailing after him all day, waiting for him to slip up, would be foolish," Duck explained plainly, "as would be provoking him."

Percy smiled innocently. "Oh, I wasn't thinking of that. Getting to my station on time is all that matters. If Tenpenny must change his route, well, that's on him to figure out."

After a pause, Oliver commented, sipping his drink, "Well, technically it isn't sabotage."

"Right, and that's coming from the man who ripped apart a truck," BoCo replied.

"Ah yes, and would you have handled that differently?" Oliver challenged.

"Pass," he answered after a few moments of contemplation, taking a long drink.

Taking his cigar from his mouth, Duck said, "You don't need our approval, Percy. Just be aware that if it goes wrong, Oliver and I won't be around to help you."

Percy smiled. "Oh, come on, what's he going to do to me?"

Duck's expression grew hard. "Pull you from your engine and beat the tar out of you." At Percy's startled expression, he said plainly, "You know what happened to Stepney. He was lucky his guard was able to help drive him back."

"Didn't they find out who did that?" Oliver asked BoCo pointedly.

BoCo shook his head. "Those diesel drivers were from a mainland works. Even if the Fat Controller knew, he'd have no authority."

"I see…" Oliver stared down at his hands. Duck glanced up at Percy and BoCo, who exchanged a glance, and angled their chairs before the aim of the lights, placing him and Oliver in shadow as he squeezed Oliver's hand.

Oliver had told him, on nights when he couldn't sleep, about the several days that he, Toad, Isabel, and Oliver's fireman had spent detained at the scrap yard until Douglas found them. The four would sit on Oliver's cold engine, having weak tea and sparse meals as they watched the steam engines be cast into the smelting pit. They took turns bathing and preening in the restrooms in Isabel's coach, and sleeping on the coach's benches at night. The scenery around them was perpetually red and orange, the air heavy and difficult to breathe.

Once their own vehicles were melted down, they were told, they would be handed over to the police for ferrying stolen goods. If they attempted to leave early, they would be given over immediately. They moved about in a group, unnerved by the diesel drivers and personnel banging crowbars and metal rods against the sides of the rolling stock and engine, yelling, "Wake up, you thieving trash!" One of them, after catching Oliver attempting to sneak off and find an exit, gave him a black eye before depositing him by the shirt collar back at his engine.

There was one occasion, during breakfast, that especially haunted Oliver. Isabel, mid-sentence, was seized by the leg, and yanked down, her half-eaten eggs, tea cup, and attendant's cap flying. Her compatriots grasped her arms as she screamed, "Let go of me! I haven't done anything to you!"

"Heard you were going to go to prison, sweetheart," a rough voice answered her, and a dirty hand hungrily grasping at her leg, the nails fraying her stockings as the driver continued, "Be a shame for a pretty bird like you to rot. Might be able to change that for ya."

Oliver and the others yanked backwards, causing Isabel to cry out from her limbs being pulled in two different directions. Kicking out, she hit the driver square in the face with her shoe's high heel, which scraped across his flesh. Crying out, he let go, smacking her leg. Isabel screamed as her legs hit back against Oliver's engine. Scrambling up past them, she dashed into the engine's cab, and squatted on the floor, her hands covering her ears and her dirty blonde hair falling into her face as the driver yelled, "I'll be back for you, you bitch!"

It explained to Duck why Isabel tended to become nervous when on her own after work, and he passed a word to the slip coach attendants to spend time with her.

"Then again," Oliver said, "this is the Fat Controller's line. Things are different here."

"Agreed," BoCo responded, and with a shrug, added, "Perhaps it would do some good to have Tenpenny be taken down a peg. He certainly likes to lay into we 'steam lovers' from time to time. You can ask Mavis and Rusty about that."

"I thought your acquaintance with Diesel would negate that?" Duck inquired, taking a sip. Percy leaned on his chair, interested in the back-and-forth.

BoCo chucked. "Diesel's a kiss-arse, you know that as well as me. Anyway," turning to Percy, he added, "If you really are bent on doing this, would you like back-up?"

Percy looked surprised, and then smiled. "If you're offering it, then sure."

"Anytime," he replied sincerely.

A few enthusiastic cries went up as Toby dipped Henrietta back on the dance floor. Bringing her back up, he kissed her on the cheek. "Looks like I've still got it, darling."

Henrietta chuckled. "Well, until my back gives out, anyway."

Stroking the side of her cheek, he replied, "When that day comes, we'll just improvise." She hugged him as they swayed more slowly, her wedding band gleaming. She still saw it in him, from time to time, the cocky tram driver who used to lean on her coach's guard rail with a wink at her, a tin of chewing tobacco in his back pocket, and a fresh apple in one hand. She wasn't sure what Toby saw in her, now, but he would still say to her, "Until the end of time, my love." She knew that he meant every word.

Waking up the next day and contemplating his decision as he shaved in the mirror, Percy thought on his decision. He felt compelled to walk away from it, as he hadn't promised Thomas that he would get back at Tenpenny. Besides, it wasn't his business, anyway. Dropping the razor into the sink, however, he decided not to do so. Duck had encouraged him to stick up for himself, in the past, and this was just another way that a big engine driver was trying to push down someone else. Regardless, Thomas was his friend, and he couldn't stand for that.

His heart was thumping in his ears as he drove his engine. The landscape seemed nicer, and more vibrant, on this day, as if he was viewing it for the first, or rather, the last, time. "Are you sure this will work?" His fireman inquired.

Percy shrugged. "Only one way to figure out." He pulled the whistle to signal to Toby, who responded in kind. "Just keep your eye out for him. He can't be hard to miss. If BoCo's coming from the quarry, I don't think I can rely on him."

The map out over the controls, Percy tapped it with one finger. "Here we go." Signaling to the box, Percy took the shifted track, and headed deeper into the factory district. Checking the radio frequencies, he slowly began to feel more and more isolated as the chatter began to fade off in his search for BoCo's frequency. The closest signal was from Gordon, who was taking the express past the short route. Mavis's signal was quickly fading, as it was an indicator that she was leaving the Dieselworks. Diesel and Paxton were talking about freight they were hauling. Tenpenny was in there, as well, complaining that his false arm was becoming itchy. In a touch of black humor, Dennis joked that he shouldn't have used glue to keep it in its socket. "No BoCo," Percy hissed, bringing his fist down on the running board, "Damn it! Bill and Ben must've held him up again!"

As he couldn't change direction at this point, Percy decided to stay the course. "There he is," his fireman muttered. The scoop loader on the top of the warship diesel loomed first in the distance. It was coated with a black substance, the trucks behind it filled with coal. "On top of that, I get to do grunt work for the steamies," the engine driver growled into the radio, "Fuck me, how could this day get any worse?"

Grinning with glee, Percy pulled on his engine's whistle. The radio chatter stopped for a moment, and then Tenpenny muttered, "Oh wait, now it just did."

Smirking, Percy trundled onto the tracks in front of the warship diesel, replying, "Good morning!"

"Would it kill you to hurry up?! I would like this shipment to arrive sometime today!" He hissed.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm on time," Percy replied, "Perhaps you should have left earlier?" Percy's guard cried out in surprise as the diesel engine's claw struck the back of the brake van. "Hey!" Percy exclaimed.

"Move it! Now!" He ordered, "I haven't time for you!"

"You can't do that!" Percy exclaimed.

The claw struck again, and Percy felt the jerk of the brake van, and two of the trucks that were impacted by the momentum. "The Fat Controller isn't here to save you right now, Percy. Move faster or get out of my way!"

"No," Percy replied quietly. His guard cried out again, ducking as the claw swung close to his head.

"Fine, then. I'll just give your guard a little show." The guard crouched down, holding his arms over his head as the claw swung. "What's wrong? Shouldn't you be doing your job? You need to stand up in the brake van! That's basic railroad regulations!"

"Stop it!" Percy exclaimed.

"You brought this on yourself. I ask you again to please speed up." Wind whooshed by on the brake van's radio, and the frightened murmurs of Percy's guard were heard.

"Fine," he replied, pulling harder on the controls, and picking up speed.

"Thank you." They continued along as a sort of odd caravan, the claw swinging if Percy went too slow. It served as a relief when Percy was at last able to take a side route, the track looping around past the main one.

"No, I don't think so." The claw swung forward, and with a crunch, seized the end of the brake van's hand rail. The guard immediately drew his hand back.

Jerked forward, Percy barely caught himself before hitting his head on the controls. "What the—Hey, let us go!"

"Certainly not, you need to be taught a lesson."

A deep whistle caught their attention, and Percy glanced over to see a large, blue engine thundering down the line. His relief was short-lived, and he felt humiliated at having Gordon, of all people, being his perspective savior. The large engine braked, and Gordon stared between the two of them, annoyed. "Is there a reason why the pathway is blocked? I have to get the Express through!"

Tenpenny scowled. "That little devil is the reason why!" Rolling down his window, hanging over the side of it, and pointing at Percy's train, he admonished over the radio, "He caused the block!"

"It was a shortcut!" Percy argued in a voice that sounded stronger than how he felt, "There's a concept known as sharing, Tenpenny! I'm sorry if you failed kindergarten, but the rest of civilization uses it!"

Gordon stared at him, and very carefully swallowed back a laugh. "Sharing, my arse!" Tenpenny snarled, drawing back his attention, "You deliberately slowed me down! Now we are stuck here because of you! Just wait for me to get my hands on you, you little twit!"

Percy clasped his hands together, and shook his head, biting his lip.

Gordon turned back to look at Tenpenny. "I don't see any reason why."

"WHAT?!" He thundered, slamming his metal hand against the side of his door for emphasis, "Now, look here, Gordon, you—"

Gordon cut him off with a yawn into his hand. He heard Percy give an uneasy chuckle. "I'm sorry," Gordon replied, lowering his hand from his mouth, "I just simply find these conversations with more and more tiresome, Tenpenny. Do you have anything to offer outside of petty insults?"

"Oho! You're one to talk!" He snarled.

Gordon glared at him. "My behavior is my business, not yours. Speaking on that note, you seem to have acquired a proclivity for picking on small engine drivers as of late. I find that disgraceful." Percy's eyes widened as he realized that his teammate was merely parroting the accusations Thomas, Duck, and he had rightfully hurled at him over the years.

"EXCUSE ME?!"

Shutting his eyes, Gordon shook his head. "Please, stop shouting. Your voice hurts my ears enough as it is." Percy barely bit back a laugh at that.

"I am trying to keep order on this railway! If that little shit Thomas thinks he can ruck up a girl's skirt—"

"All right, that's enough!" Gordon exclaimed, his tone biting. Percy's fist shook at his side as he watched Gordon step his feet apart, as if readying himself for a blow. "I suggest you get a move on before I report you for your slanderous accusations, as well as intimidation of one of my teammates!"

"I'd like to see you try."

Gordon turned on his heel, reaching for the radio. The diesel's horn blared, causing Percy to jump. Detaching from the brake van, Tenpenny sped off backward. Turning back to look at Percy, Gordon said, "You'd best be off, as well." Percy nodded, moving his train out of the way, and Gordon returned to the controls, but not before stopping and adding, "And quit cowering like that, Percy. Have some respect for yourself."

The big engine pulled away, leaving Percy to sigh in relief. "That went well," commented his fireman dryly.

Percy sighed. "Well, I suppose the only thing we can do is leave." A horn blared in the distance, causing them to turn and see BoCo's green and red engine pulling to a stop on the main line beside them.

Percy gnashed his teeth. "Where were you?!"

"At the quarry," a weary voice answered him. A shadow moved, and BoCo hung his head out the window. His hair was clumped, and his eyes were bloodshot. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie was askew, and his hat was missing.

Percy's expression softened into surprise. "Do I want to know?"

"Do you want me to answer that truthfully?" BoCo inquired.

"Probably not," Percy relented.

"Oh good, I'm glad," BoCo replied before lying his head against the side of his window. A soft snoring began to drone from him.

Percy's guard and fireman stared up at the diesel engine. "Should we wake him?" His fireman asked quietly.

Percy lowered his shoulders. "Give him a minute. He tried." He slumped down to the floor and didn't want to think of what sort of mileage Gordon was going to be demanding from this debacle.

XXXXXX

"It's a bit dull, but it's a nice place," Henry commented, running a hand over his head. His hair was continuing to grow back in, although it was still uneven. Birds sung above him, and a stick cracked as a deer ran off.

Gordon agreed with that sentiment, but observing Henry here, he understood more of the forest's merit, mostly in its quietness. That was the most difficult adjustment he'd had to make, moving from London to Sodor when his engine was purchased. Quiet was deceptive, he'd learned that in the war. Death had stolen like a thief in the night, leaving a comrade, who had just spoken to him moments before, with his jaw reduced to a pulpy mess.

He turned his head sharply at a loud splashing noise to see that it was only a duck flapping as it flew away from a pond. Kneeling and reaching into his pocket, Henry produced a bag of seeds, throwing them into the water. Gordon kept his distance, not wanting to get pond scum on himself. A dragonfly buzzed by as Henry watched a female duck with a few ducklings eat the seeds.

In the past, Henry would have asked Gordon why he had accompanied him there. This couldn't have interested him. However, the company he provided formed its own stability. The team, despite its growing ranks, had drawn closer after his accident, spending time with each other after work.

He rubbed his hands together. Perhaps it was real, and worth clinging to, but nothing lasted forever. The forest itself was an example of such. Rising, he commented, "I must seem childish."

"I would question your decision of buying seeds for merely this reason, but no, you are not childish," Gordon replied as Henry dusted himself off, "especially in comparison to several with whom we work."

"An interesting place to set the bar," he replied wryly.

"Reality forces it to be there," he explained, the flapping of a monarch butterfly catching his eye for a moment as it landed on a flower's petal. Henry smiled as he watched Gordon, who appeared to be transfixed by its slow flapping. The butterfly rose into the air and flew off.

He cleared his throat, and Gordon, embarrassed, turned his head quickly about to look at him. Holding up a hand, Henry said, "Don't worry about it. We all get distracted by pretty things, from time to time." Gordon hummed approval at that, and Henry decided to push his luck. "I especially find the lilies to be such."

"Oh?" Gordon inquired, turning away from the flowers.

Henry bit down on an intake of breath, and continued, "When I was in the hospital, I received two bouquets as gifts. One was of roses from the Fat Controller, and the other was of lilies."

"I see," Gordon commented, "Did the second have a sender, by chance?"

Henry shrugged. "The card merely said, 'from a friend.'"

Gordon smiled at him and moved back into the trees. "Well then, that's nice, but it that was over a year ago, Henry. It is old news at this point."

"Gordon, why did you send me lilies?" Henry called out bluntly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Henry," he replied nonchalantly, continuing to walk away from him.

Striding up to match him, Henry stated his case. "You were the only person I informed back then that I have an affinity for lilies."

"Do you not have friends outside of work?" Gordon inquired dryly.

"No," he replied simply.

"Oh." His reply was soft, and Henry knew that he had caught him. Clearing his throat, he defended, "Well, I thought that they would give you something nice to look at."

Henry propped his elbow against the side of the tree, and chuckled. "That's the extent of it?'

He sighed in annoyance, and replied sarcastically, "No, Henry, actually my ulterior motive was to promote a hospital reform involving gardening."

"Ah yes, a noble endeavor," Henry agreed, playing along, "Though I must say that was an extensive effort, researching the hospitals on your own and asking Clarabel to bring the flowers."

Gordon mumbled under his breath as Henry continued to poke holes in his statements. Keeping his back to Henry, he answered, "I wasn't intending upon a visit. None of us were, at the time, but we were all aware of Clarabel's previous employment as a night nurse. It was merely a stroke of luck."

"And you were the only one to send me flowers?" Henry asked.

Embarrassed, Gordon couldn't bring himself to look at him. "It was a foolish whim, I'll admit it. You were seriously injured, however, and yes, I knew you were returning." Gathering himself, he turned back about to face Henry. "On that note, I prefer to drop the entire matter. It was a silly thing to do, in retrospect."

Henry slowly smiled, dropping his arm from the tree. "Actually, I wanted to thank you. You didn't need to show me such kindness."

"Well then, you're welcome," Gordon replied, waving a hand, "Is there anything else you wished to bring up?"

Henry's footsteps felt heavy as he moved away from the tree. "Yes, there is."

Gordon instinctively reached for his coat pocket. "We'd best keep it brief. We need to be back before our shift begins this afternoon."

Henry paused before him. "Why the rush, all of a sudden?"

Gordon's hand fell, and he replied, a slight hardness behind his voice, "Out with it, Henry."

Before he could stop himself, Henry asked, "Do you want to be together?"

Henry swallowed, wishing that he hadn't said anything as Gordon stood quietly before him. Gordon seized him by the shoulders, and Henry gave a cry of disdain, stepping backward. He stopped, however, when Gordon surprised him with a kiss on the forehead. Letting go of him, Gordon smiled, and held out his arm. "Shall we, then?"

XXXXXX

The night wind whispered through Edward's hair as he stared out from the gazebo. He could not believe how his luck had turned, as of late. With his engine being completely overhauled, he would be able to take on more work. Perhaps, as well, that would also mean less disparaging locker room comments about his age, but he decided against hoping.

Footsteps clacked onto the gazebo's limestone, and he turned. "Oh, hello, James," he greeted, surprised to see the younger man there.

James gave a half-smile as he replied, "Fancy meeting you here."

"Oh?" Edward inquired, unsure of his intentions, "I would suppose so. You don't often come looking for me."

"You don't believe in coincidences?" James teased.

"I do," he replied, "but you have been appearing to me more often, as of late. Do you need something?"

James's expression fell at the straight-forwardness of Edward's wording. He felt foolish for thinking that he could stop his own runaway train single-handedly, and more so now that Edward was becoming aware of his hovering.

"I was wondering if I could bring a proposal to your attention," James offered.

"What are you asking me, James?" Edward asked, his tone conveying suspicion. He felt a sense of dread rising within him.

James gave him a cocksure smile, masking his nerves as he asked, "Would you fancy the idea of being together?"

Edward frowned, and glanced down with a sigh, his hands folded behind his back. "Had I been a younger man, I would have agreed whole-heartedly."

"That's it?" James asked quietly, a note of hope in his voice.

Looking back up at him, Edward replied, "James, I'm old enough to be your father. Frankly, you'd be better off marrying a nice young woman. It's not worth taking a risk on me."

James smiled at that. "That wouldn't work out. I'd be lying to someone. As far as risks," he dropped his hands apart, and smoothed out his coat, "I think at this point you and I both know them, Edward. Give me credit, I wouldn't have asked you if I wasn't sure."

Finding that James was correct on the second point, Edward went back to the first. "You mocked my old age."

James sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry."

Edward's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You have enough humility to admit that?"

James's face turned red, and he found he couldn't look at Edward due to his shame. "For this, I do."

Edward slowly smiled. "Well, that's a start."

James glanced up at him with a tentative smile. "So, your opinion now?"

Edward's smile fell. "I—" Closing his eyes, he took a breath, "Yes." James's smile stretched into a grin. Edward's eyes opened, and he grasped the younger man. "Come here."

James rested the side of his hand against the post behind Edward, and kissed him, his foot stepping in between the older man's feet. Edward brought his hand up to the back of James's dark head, bringing him in closer to himself. The kiss was tentative, with Edward tasting the remains of something sweet James must have had for his lunch on his lips.

When the younger man drew out, Edward found that he didn't want him to go. He held him close and leaned his head against his shoulder. "James," he murmured softly into his shoulder, affectionately squeezing it.

James's breath caught for a moment at the loneliness in Edward's tone before dropping his hand to hold onto him. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

XXXXXX

The toolbox clanged on the ground beside James as he, his uniform jacket stripped off, crawled under his engine. A wrench was in his teeth, and a flashlight was in one hand. "You see anything, James?" His fireman called.

He allowed the wrench to fall from his mouth. "Yes, I do. It's filled with tree roots and branches. Hang on, I'll clean it out." He didn't want to give mind to the fact that it was his own fault for not paying attention to the fallen branches lying across it.

He groaned as he heard an engine thundering by him, and heard Thomas call out, "Wow, look at that view!"

James gave a thought to flipping Thomas off, but decided that that would be too much work. Overemphasizing his movements as he worked, he shook his can back and forth as Thomas's engine and the coaches passed.

Thomas let out a wolf whistle. "The ladies love you, James!"

As Thomas's train puffed away, James nodded, pleased with his handiwork, shut off the flashlight and grasped the wrench as he slid out, "That should do it."

His fireman chuckled. "You gave Thomas's passengers quite a show!"

James, without thinking, rubbed the back of his wrist over his sweaty forehead. Grumbling in annoyance at the fact that he had spread grease across it, he replied, "It's only fair, since he put the attention on me."

XXXXXX

"We're not going to get married, in this lifetime," Henry commented wistfully as he peeled potatoes for dinner.

Gordon didn't bother glancing up from the cutting board. "That goes without saying."

"It doesn't bother you?" Henry asked, glancing over at him.

Gordon opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it, abandoning his task altogether. Folding his arms, the dark hair on them exposed by his shirtsleeves being rolled back, he asked, "Is there a reason it should?"

"It wouldn't be dignified," Henry replied, setting down the peeler, and swallowing back against the twisting feeling in his gut.

Realization dawned upon the larger man, and he gave a slight, knowing smile. "I suppose I have that way about me."

"You suppose?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gordon chuckled. "All right, I do. But to be fair, it is to be expected, considering my profession."

"We aren't on the rails, now," Henry pointed out.

"Exactly," he responded.

Henry pushed his hair back, exposing the pink scar on his forehead. "Be honest with me."

"You think I joined myself to you out of pity?" Gordon scoffed, and shook his head. "Be reasonable, Henry. When I have harbored such a sentiment toward anyone? I find your company enjoyable at best, and still tolerable at worst, which is more than I can say for many. Speaking in purely practical terms, then, I see no reason not to partner myself with you. If that is not enough for you, then I apologize."

Henry slowly smiled, warmed by that. Gordon allowed himself a moment to look at him before Henry replied, "It's enough."

"Then that's settled. Perhaps a continued discussion is better, over dinner?" Gordon inquired, nodding back to the half-prepared food.

"A sound prospect, dear," Henry replied, picking the peeler back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some artistic license with the reference to the events of "Stepney Gets Lost." I just don't think that Bert and 'Arry would be employed by the Fat Controller, considering how they committed assault and attempted murder on one of his employees. At the same token, I have the human version of Diesel 10 threatening Percy and his crew, but he is actually caught by Gordon. I also think that 'Arry and Bert lost their menacing presence when they were reduced to bullies in the show.
> 
> Isabel never appeared in the Thomas television show, but she is in the Railway Series, and is depicted as escaping with Oliver and Toad. Daisy being a model, and then being a cabaret singer and stripper is a reference to the fact that her theme sounds like a cabaret theme. Gordon being a veteran of World War II is from my fanfic "Toward the Dusk." I know that Thomas and Molly isn't a popular ship, but I like how he is kind to her in the show. Also, I wish that she would return.
> 
> As an added note, this is where the time line breaks from order. I wanted to have one segment each for Henry, Gordon, James, and Edward involving daily life on the railway, with their own subplots together following their own linearity. Hence, Gordon and Henry's interaction in the forest takes place after "Henry's Forest" from Season Three, and James and Edward's interaction takes place after "Old Iron" from Season Two.


	3. Chapter 3

A cloud drifted over the moon as Edward passed the empty ticket booth. Most of the station's functions had been closed for the night, barring freight. The station's cross beams cast shadows over him as he passed beneath them, moving toward the two women who stood chatting underneath a long-hanging light.

Emily's arms were folded, her black hair in a tight ponytail. She raised a hand in greeting to Edward. Molly was animatedly making a point. "Children playing chicken is continuing to be an issue. Is the island truly that boring, that they would do such a thing?"

Edward gave an acquiescent shrug. "It's youthful arrogance. I can name a few things I did at that age."

Emily turned her head at that. "You, Edward, of all people?"

"Well, I—"

Molly swung her head about, as well. "What? Oh, you must tell us!"

Realizing what sort of hole he had inadvertently kicked himself into, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Ahem, well, perhaps another time, ladies?"

"Aye, we're behind schedule enough as it is," a voice a drifted to them. The three turned, and Edward stifled a sigh of relief as Douglas materialized before them, striding out of the darkness. The overhead lights caught on his black hair and striking green eyes. His brother, Donald, had once said that the twins had been touched by a fairy at birth, and though Edward heavily doubted the truth of that claim, he thought now at least it held water by appearances.

"Third shift again for you, huh?" Emily asked.

Douglas shrugged, jamming his hands in his pockets. "Work is work. Though if the Fat Controller keeps moving me around like this, I'll likely not get any sleep again. Anyway," turning on his heel, he addressed Molly directly, "the design's ready to go, lass. We just need to rig up the trains."

Edward and Emily glanced quizzically at Molly, who gave a shy smile. "I had an idea from when Thomas beautified my train with lights. We can rig our trains with lights again as spotters against roadside pedestrians. Douglas helped me with the design."

"They're not for show, this time," Douglas added, "the idea is more based around practicality. The bulbs are secured close to the trucks to prevent breakage. Although, if ye asked me, we might still lose some anyway. I swear, it's as if these trucks have minds of their own."

"It's only meant to be temporary," Molly explained with a nervous smile, "Then there's the second half of the plan. Each of our guards will take a station camera with him or her. If we see someone, the guard can take a shot."

Douglas shook his head. "They're likely not going to catch anything, but we're banking on it being a deterrent."

Emily nodded. "I'll take them on my train. Can't hurt."

"Agreed," Edward commented, "We'll need to work quickly. Our trains are set to leave in a half hour."

"Right, then," Douglas gestured, and the other three followed.

Emily sighed in annoyance, shaking her head. "Well, here's to hoping we don't flatten anyone anyway."

The night run was, for the most part, uneventful. Edward found the lighting of the dirt and grass around the tracks odd. The guard called a few false alarms that ended up being movements of animals in the trees. Edward refused to rest on his laurels, however. He had seen pedestrians close to the tracks on his branch line, previously, usually kids out partying or getting high. The latter concerned him, though now the only evidence he saw of them were discarded bottles, joints, and a bong at one point. "Someone should clean that up," the guard commented over the radio as they continued.

Rounding the bend near an overhang, Edward caught, out of the corner of his eye, the silhouette of his train against the rock wall in a ghostly manner. "You think it might have been nothing, Eddie?" His fireman inquired.

"We aren't finished yet," Edward replied, though he hoped that it ended up being the case.

The remaining run was through a densely grown area, with a distant light crackling.

"Wait a moment…" Edward's eyes narrowed for a moment. The next, they widened. He yanked hard on the locomotive's whistle, only to gnash his teeth in frustration as the dancing figures on the line refused to move. Edward yanked on the brake with a grunt, and the guard immediately set to work snapping the camera.

The figures darted off as the train rolled to a halt, with distant voices bringing only unintelligible sounds. The flickering light was extinguished, leaving smoke from a hastily doused fire.

Edward shook his head. "They could've been killed. We were lucky."

"Agreed," his fireman replied.

The guard ran up to the engine, the camera in his hands. "Did you capture anything?" Edward inquired, turning back to look at him.

The guard shook his head. "No, but I think the flash scared them off." He handed over a photo to Edward and the fireman, which showed nothing but distorted tracks and trees. Crickets chirped in the distance.

After the guard climbed back into the break van, Edward took off again. Reports of people playing chicken, over the next few weeks, slowly dwindled away.

XXXXXX

James rested his back against the rock wall behind himself. His legs were sprawled out before him, and entwined with Edward's, who sat close to him. A lantern, covered with a tarp, burned low before them on the sandy shelf. Waves lapped on the shore in the distance. A fire burned off in the distance. They could hear Bill and Ben laughing raucously around it. Two figures were swaying before it, with a radio droning in the background. Derek's voice gave him away, while Marion's movements identified herself as the other figure. The remaining figures were too poorly lit to identify. The remaining figures were too poorly lit to identify.

James had carried the lantern over the rock wall, taking care to grasp Edward whenever the other man slid. Edward had protested when James had lifted him by the waist over a particularly treacherous area but acquiesced when the other man refused to drop him. The lighthouse high above them cast its beam into the dark, lapping waves. Something moved in the water before descending. Fog was drifting over the water, and a low-pitched horn sounded as a warning.

"I thought I would spoil you tonight," Edward commented, lifting his hand from the face of the bottle.

James held up the lantern for a better view, and gave a low whistle, his eyes widening. "1956? Edward, how did you even get this vintage?" His eyes flicked up at his lover, who, much to his surprise, had a mischievous look on his face.

"It pays to know the island. Along with that, I can also pull a favor, from time to time, with a few old friends on the Northwestern Railway."

James raised an eyebrow. "All of that time, and you never told me?"

"You never asked." Edward barely had time to set the bottle aside before James seized him by the shirt collar for a kiss. James's gasp of surprise was caught in the kiss as Edward pushed him backward and climbed onto him.

James felt Edward wetly kissing down his neck, and smiled at it, tilting his head backward. He felt Edward undoing his collar, exposing his skin to the night air. Edward's tongue rasped over his collar bone, moving down to the fine hairs on James's chest. The younger man groaned, "Ed…" He grasped at Edward's clothing, and slipped down to lie upon the blanket that they had brought with them.

Edward was framed against the night sky as he kissed him, their fingers interlocking, and whispered, "Jim…My Jim…" Edward leaned his cheek against James's, and affectionately nuzzled up against him. James couldn't help but feel guilt in the pit of his stomach, despite the pleasure of the sensation. Edward still, from time to time, seemed scared, as if in the back of his mind thinking that James would eventually leave. It seemed to be fading away, however, and James didn't prod him on where it came from.

James ran his nails slowly down Edward's back, causing his partner to give a slight arch in pleasure. James brushed the back of his fingers against Edward's cheek, and reminded him gently, "Your knees."

"I can kneel over you for a little longer," Edward replied with a note of annoyance. Taking James's hand, he kissed the palm of it. James acquiesced, his hand relaxing, and he lay his full weight back against the blanket. He kissed along the side of Edward's head, his legs wrapping about him. Brushing his hand over the fabric of James's shirt, Edward fondly rested it over his lover's beating heart before undoing the second and third button to kiss and nuzzle up against James's chest. James bit down against a gasp and clung tightly to him with his legs.

A whistle sounded off in the distance, and wheels pounded over train tracks.

With a last kiss, Edward moved to sit up. James lowered his legs with a sigh. He moved to button his shirt again, but Edward brushed his hands away. "I will do it."

James smiled, and propped himself up on his hands. "Well dear, what say you to opening that bottle?"

"Certainly," he replied, producing a bottle opener from his pocket. The cork popped, and he handed over the opener to James, who took a long sniff of the wine's bouquet.

"If I get drunk, you're carrying me home," James warned.

Chuckling, Edward brought his cup together with his lover's. "Then we'll be careful."

XXXXXX

It was strange, how having one person join him made his home feel more welcoming, Gordon thought quietly to himself on occasion. Of course, it did come with a price, that being his having to relax his grip upon the layout of his home. He had to make concessions for Henry moving things, replacing things, angling things, and Henry-will-you-please-stop-making-suggestions-about-my-interior-decorating-choices-please-I-beg-you.

Henry looked at the picture on the mantle and didn't bother asking Gordon who the others were in the photo. The family resemblance was enough. What he did ask, however, was, "Do you still talk to them?"

"Only one," Gordon replied quietly, "and the occasion is rare."

Later, Gordon would admit that there were days when he turned the picture facedown. There had originally been six sons, including Gordon. Two of his brothers were killed in the war, with neither body being able to be returned home for a proper burial. A third died in a railway accident as a result of a head-on collision. The fourth, Gordon only mentioned once, had committed suicide after modernization had retired his steam engine. That left Scott, who Gordon occasionally feuded with.

Old times weren't worth speaking about.

There were things worth remembering, now. There was a cracked china tea cup from his deceased grandmother that Henry refused to part with. The ruined vestige of it annoyed Gordon and tended to result in their petty arguments. There were the potted plants Henry brought with him when moving in, the scents of the flowers perfuming the air, and his mint and basil plants being used in the cooking.

Henry's fingers ran over Gordon's skin, tracing over old scars from Hell's Highway that sliced into his back and shoulders. Henry had been too young to go, and that, as far as Gordon was concerned, was preferred. He didn't want to think of Henry being harmed. There was one instance where Henry did go further, in pressing his lips to one of them.

Gordon's breath caught. "Henry," he whispered, his fists balling at his sides.

His lover brushed his head up against his skin. "Too much?"

"A moment," Gordon replied softly, placing his hand on Henry's from where his arm was wrapped about his waist, "All right. But no word of any of this."

Henry swallowed back a shaky breath and ran a thumb over his eyes. "I wouldn't think of it, my love."

Henry was the more vocal of the two in expressing his emotions. Gordon, however, relied more upon body language. Lying his head on Henry's shoulder while they read together, for one, or for the other, kissing his cheek after returning from work, told his partner enough. Gordon knew he couldn't tell Scott about Henry, and had merely lied, saying he had taken on a flat mate to save money. He occasionally teased Henry that only the former was true, while Henry, with a raised eyebrow, would remind him that it wasn't he who had asked to be cared for. Gordon would then consider the ironing, laundry, and cleaning, which were done by Henry, and decide against pushing the point.

Henry had been the first out of the two of them to notice James and Edward's involvement. It was understandable, given how Gordon's concern with his public image tended to make him more oblivious to their team's dynamics.

He'd been heading along an alley between two service buildings near the station when he caught sight of Edward and James, deep in conversation. James was leaning backward against the wall, his arms folded, and his foot propped up against the wall behind him. Edward was standing rather close to him. They turned quickly at the crunch of gravel under Henry's boots, James practically springing off the wall with a scowl. "Do you need something, Henry?" Edward asked in a polite, muted tone, wiping at his sleeve.

He knew from that defensive look in James's dark eyes, because he knew that Gordon had the same look whenever an ambiguous phrase or gesture toward Henry was made. It was fleeting, though, and he saw fit not to confront James or Edward about it, though he had mentioned it to Gordon.

He never saw Edward and James in that location again, though he did notice, once, that Edward buttoned his collar higher than usual. He hid his smirk at that. Gordon was adamantly against any slightest indication of public displays of affection near their workplace, and Henry was grateful for that. However, there was an occasion when Henry caught Edward in his forest, reading The Charioteer under a tree. Shutting it, Edward glanced up at him, and Henry felt frozen to the spot as he realized that Edward had known.

"James and I won't say anything," he commented, "but next time I recommend you both be more careful. The gazes you give each other are too long."

With a curt nod, Henry agreed, and Edward gave him a smile before flipping his book back open, as if the conversation had never happened. Gordon had scoffed when Henry had told him, saying that gossip must have somehow wormed its way around, but nevertheless was careful not to look at him too long from then on.

In the summer of 1967, Gordon triumphantly slammed the newspaper down upon the kitchen counter. "Finally!" Henry giddily grasped his hand, wringing it in excitement as he scanned over the headline announcing the passing of the Sexual Offenses Act.

The excitement, however, quickly drained, and his face fell, his hand slipping from Gordon's. The paper rattled in Henry's hand as he exclaimed in exasperation, "It's barely accomplished anything!"

Jerking his thumb in the direction of the hall, Gordon replied, "The bobbies can't break down my door to drag us out of bed."

The paper crinkled with Henry's frustration. "No, but they can still nick us on the street if your hand so much as brushes mine!" Placing the paper back on the counter, he put a hand to his head. "I need to lie down."

When Henry made no move to leave, however, Gordon questioned gently, "Henry, did you honestly think it would have been that easy?"

He sighed, lowering his hand. "No, though I can dream." Jamming his hands in his pockets, he looked back over at the paper. "It's a dangerous game I have involved you in, isn't it?"

Leaning back against the wall, his one foot propped, Gordon gave him a wolfish grin, and said nothing more.

After the passing of the Act, railway gossip laxed, and caught up. Gordon cynically thought to himself that it had been a matter of time, at that point, and kept to himself. Henry withdrew, bringing the whispers to an impasse until both were called to the Fat Controller's office.

"Thomas Spencer, Edward Wells, Tobias and Henrietta Singer, James Frost, Percy Jenkins, Oliver Smith, Donald and Douglas Baines," the Fat Controller, leaning over his desk, recited to Henry and Gordon, looking back and forth between them, "These are but a few of your co-workers whose jobs you had gambled with."

"With all due respect, sir, that was not our intention," Henry replied.

"Regardless of intention, the fact remains that had you two been caught before the Act's passing, the scandal would have caused severe damage to the railway's reputation." Sitting back down, he explained gravely, his hands folded before him. "It goes without saying that I would have been sacked. With the demand for well-functioning diesels growing higher, Sodor would have lost its status as a sanctuary for steam engines."

"But sir, that is why we were discreet," Gordon argued.

"Hence why this meeting is not in reference to your termination." Gordon and Henry both looked at each other and gave sighs of relief. Reaching out, he wrote in both of their employment files, each of which were open on his desk. "As long as you two each continue to carry on discreetly, there should be no issue. And again, no fraternization at work."

"Understood, sir," they replied simultaneously.

"This conversation will not be revisited." While giving his assent, Henry's eyes fell on four other files stacked by the Fat Controller's desk. While he was suspicious as to the first two, he was curious of the others. "Those don't concern you, Henry," the Fat Controller admonished, dropping his pen. "Now, both of you, out. I expect to see your engines at the platform tomorrow morning."

Several crewmen and women over the next year quit. Gordon's guard quit, as did Henry's, which deeply hurt the latter. Both of James's crewmates quit, prompting him to be uncharacteristically somber for a few days. Edward's guard also quit. Oliver's crew remained, as did Isabel, though Duck's fireman quit. Several perspective drivers rescinded their applications, and the ranks of rail workers on Sodor dwindled for a few months. The Fat Controller grew annoyed with the overflow and tightened his grip on his employees, pushing harder workloads to compensate. Shouting matches erupted outside the locker rooms, prompting drivers to be punished with suspensions after the tumult died down.

Rail traffic continued, though at times traces of the discontent sowed by the former rail employees surfaced, lowering the amount of passengers. James tended to loudly complain about carrying freight more often on those days.

Lying on his stomach on the bed he shared with Gordon, Henry clutched his pillow in his fingers, and wondered what would become of them. Climbing into bed beside him, Gordon placed an arm about him, and, leaning down, buried his head in Henry's hair.

There was a sense of quiet about their relationship. Gordon did find a club that catered to them, and they went there only occasionally to be safe. Otherwise, it was satisfaction that held sway. Though, Henry noted, there were times when Gordon was possessive of him while making love or fooling around. His grip on Henry was tighter, his kisses to the top and side of his head harder as he moved against him. In those instances, Henry figured, it was better to simply hold on.

Gordon wound his pocket watch and put it back in his coat pocket before joining Henry, who was waiting at the bottom of the front steps for him. Henry gave him that smile of his once more, and they were off.

XXXXXX

James's sewing machine had been the heaviest item in his trunk, and provided, after a time, a sense of ease to Edward. He'd grown used to hearing the machine tapping away and see the shadow of his lover cast against the far wall of the side room while he worked. Putting on soft music, Edward would join him, taking a seat in the small parlor to read the paper.

"Where did you get it from?" Edward asked as James busied himself over mending Edward's coat, which had ripped from snagging on a nail jutting from a wall. Though James had taught him how to use the machine, he often insisted on being the one to use it, anyway. Smirking to himself, Edward allowed him to indulge his desire not to share it.

James cut a piece of thread with his teeth before carefully arranging the coat under the machine's needle. "My mother. It ended up being a practical thing to take with me. I was able to receive a little additional pocket money, from time to time, with it when needed."

"Oh?" Edward inquired, raising his head in genuine interest from where he was balancing his checkbook.

James shrugged, stepping on the pedal to run the needle. "Nothing fancy, really. A few pairs of pants, a muff here, or a dress there. Managed to even get away with that last one before I had to move."

Edward frowned at that. "Surely, it must have been beautiful."

James gave a self-satisfied smile and stepped off the pedal. Reaching to the side of the table, he grasped a battered portfolio that lay beside it. Flipping it open, he stopped on a page, gesturing Edward over. "My best work. The little girl looked like a princess in it. Though I sometimes wonder if her parents let her wear it. I learned to be more careful about being outed after then."

Taking it from him, Edward looked over the image. The figure was rendered in basic design, with an oval for a head, and circles for hands and feet. It was understandable, as the focal point was the dress. Traces of James's flamboyance were visible on the front and back, with the lacy collar, puffy sleeves, a threaded design in the shape of a butterfly across the breastbone, and a bow above the rump in the back. "It's charming," Edward commented with a sad smile.

James turned his hand over and held it up. Setting aside the sketchbook, Edward took the dark-haired man's palm between both of his hands. He ran his thumb over the scar that broke diagonally through the skin in realization.

The Fat Controller had lectured both on their fraternization. Edward had been humiliated, especially when Hatt told him he specifically had expected better judgment out of him, however both had been able to keep their employment. So long as it was kept firmly under wraps, their boss was content to look the other way. Edward had known the Hatts for far too long, and his tenure was good. James, despite his recklessness, was also essential to the railroad, particularly when it came to the trucks.

Edward had caught Molly near a closed ticket booth, glancing over a poster for Thomas's line. Seeing his reflection coming up behind hers in the glass, she said quietly, "I'm so ashamed." To discourage further fraternization, they were put on completely different shifts until further notice.

Edward gave a warm smile, Molly's back to him as she read his expression in the mirrored glass. "You're young and in love. You're bound to make mistakes. There is no shame in that. You weren't negligent in your work, so no one was harmed. I'm also happy to have you with me." Molly gave a slow smile and nod, leaving the ticket booth to join him by the tracks.

James's brush, his black hair tangled in it, lay on the bathroom sink.

There were their off nights where he bathed with James. James often took advantage of the occasion to pull Edward into his lap. He would tease and pleasure him, catching his lover's cries in his hand as he toyed with a nipple, or fondled his testicles. Spent, Edward would lean backward, grasping his partner's hand, and enjoying his closeness as he held him in the warm water.

Edward had many scars from the war and his years as a driver, however James found a few worth questioning. While Edward dried himself off, James asked quietly, leaning against the sink, "Who gave those to you?"

Edward paused, having no context. "I'm sorry?"

James continued to speak in a low tone, his chin slightly down, and a shadow behind his eyes. "Those scars on your back."

Edward sighed, knowing that it wasn't worth dancing around the question. Down his back were four slash marks. They had long since faded to white, but the fear still felt fresh, as did the hurt, for as many years as he had placed between himself and the abuse of his adolescence. He could hear both yelling in his ears, yanking on his hair, beating him, and demanding that he act like a normal man, and not a subhuman deviant. It came out as a whisper. "My parents."

James's knuckles on the sink rim became white, an angered scowl contorting his face. "Let it go," Edward said, the towel hanging between his hands, "They're dead, both of them."

James continued to glare at him. No amount of "they can't hurt you now," or "I'm here" could help, in this situation. He didn't want to think of anyone harming such a kind and gentle man. And what angered him further was that Edward was his. He couldn't put them to rights. Slowly letting go of the sink, he relaxed his expression. "Come to bed."

Burying his head in Edward's shoulder blades, James wept. Lying exhausted beneath him, their bodily liquids sticking them together, Edward whispered, "it's all right, James." James slowly shook his head against his back and said nothing.

"Here," Edward pulled on the latch, opening the window to swing outward, allowng the summer air to fill the room. The night sky loomed above the houses beyond. Conversation, the lapping of the ocean, and the traveling of cars whispered to James and him as they sat on the window seat in their pajamas. Occasionally, when it became cooler, James would put a blanket over his partner's shoulders, and insist that Edward wear it whenever the other man would say it was no trouble. James would, sometimes, entertain Edward with his made-up stories of the people below, and others, would let Edward tell him stories about what really did happen.

One night, Edward asked quietly, "So, how was the outside world?"

James turned his head at that, stopping in massaging his partner's shoulders, and noticed Edward's far-off expression, the older man's chin braced on an elbow. With a shrug, he replied, "All right, I suppose."

Edward glanced over at him and gave a small chuckle before sitting up. "Then I haven't missed anything." James raised an eyebrow, and he explained, "I've lived on this island all my life, mostly because the work was good." Regret entered his tone. "I let go of a few opportunities to stay here, and a relationship, as well. I wasn't adventurous enough."

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying a stable income," James replied. With a slight smile, he added, "Besides, if you'd gone, you never would've seen my splendid red engine!" Edward returned his smile, and James added, "How about this? We'll plan a trip. Where would you like to go?"

Edward, warmed at that, began, "Well, I've heard that the Welsh castles are lovely…"

There were their worse nights, a notable one being after James's train had nearly collided with Diesel's. He'd barely managed to veer off in time, jostling his passengers, and making himself look foolish. Glancing back over his shoulder at the other engine, James had caught the driver's smirk, and knew that the circumstance hadn't been accidental.

Regardless, Diesel's act of chicken resulted in blame. James's passengers were annoyed with him and complained about his perceived recklessness. While not issued a formal reprimand, as no accident had occurred, James felt humiliated, snapping at Diesel outside of the locker room to the point where Henry and Thomas had to hold him back from pouncing on him. Diesel, with a parting retort likening James to a mad rodent, walked off with a self-satisfied air, the other diesel drivers following him with taunts thrown at James in passing.

"Damn it all!" James exclaimed angrily, his teeth gnashed. His fists clenched, he searched wildly about in desperate anger for something to throw, break, or take out his anger upon. His breath caught when Edward seized his wrists. "Let go of me!" He hissed.

"No," he replied firmly. James's wrists wobbled against him as he continued, "I will not allow you to destroy our home and possessions." James kept his teeth bared in anger for a few moments, until it began to sink in what he was doing, as he stared at Edward's disdainful expression. "Calm down," he commanded.

James glared up at him, and the anger slowly began to fade from his eyes. Catching his breath, he took a few steps away from him, not breaking their gaze, and sat down heavily on a chair at their dining table. Edward took the opposing chair and sat quietly with him, his hands folded in his lap. Propping his elbow on the table, James said quietly, "I'll pack my things and go."

"Don't be foolish," Edward replied firmly, "What would that accomplish, your running away?"

James glared at him. "It's not 'running away.'"

"Your temper isn't going to go away, if you act like this," Edward admonished, "Furthermore, you seek someone to take this out on." James's eyes widened at that, and Edward added, "I know you better than you think, James."

"Then why let me live here, if you know me so well?" He challenged.

"Because you stopped," he replied, leaning forward, "You haven't broken anything, and you've calmed down."

"This won't be the only instance," James argued.

"You will need to work on that, then," Edward answered, "I'm not giving up on you so easily, but I'm also not going to allow you to walk over me." James glanced to the side at that and gave a nod. "Good," rising, Edward continued, "Now, I don't want to hear another word from you, tonight. You've tired me enough, as it is." He left James with his unhappiness, the young man stewing before at last leaving, as well.

Edward was asleep by the time James entered their room. Tentatively, he slid into bed, expecting to be kicked out. When Edward didn't so much as stir, his partner closed his eyes, and, turning his back away from him, fell asleep, as well.

The next morning, James grasped Edward's hand, stopping the older man from adjusting his tie, and kissed the back of it. Edward lowered his hand, and said, "Come on, we need to get to work."

The photo of the roster of the Northwestern Railways' personnel, circa 1968, hung proudly behind the Fat Controller's desk. It had been a nuisance, as always, to line everyone up, and get the sign in place, prompting groans of annoyance, elbows, and swearing. As time passed, the roster began to include more diesel drivers. While the Fat Controller had his affection for steam engines, nonetheless the steam drivers had good reason to feel nervous.

Yet, Toby and Henrietta painted the walls of their new house. Oliver held out a lighter for Duck's cigar under a pier. Duck held him tightly, not willing to let him go, his kisses tasting like ash. Duke proudly watched his grandsons continue with the family business of narrow-gauge engines.

If that was as good as it was going to get, Edward thought to himself as he dropped his soaking umbrella into the bucket, James pocketing his copy of the townhouse key, then that was still quite sad.

James grasped Edward's jaw, and tugged him in for a kiss under the hall light. Rain water dripped from their coats, splashing on the carpet and wood floor. Drawing out, his hot breath whispering against him, James rested his head against the side of Edward's, his eyes closed. "I love you." Edward whispered back the endearment, his fingers combing fondly through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who have read "Toward the Dusk" before I edited it on 3/5/19, there are notes on that fanfic as to the changes. Most principally, the fact that the time line had to be moved to accommodate the fact that male homosexuality (only in private) was decriminalized in the UK and Wales in 1967. 1962 would have been too early to be feasible. As such, some of Edward's backstory (serving in the army instead of as a civilian air warden) was changed, and Gordon was aged slightly up. "Hell's Highway" is a reference to the failed Operation Market Garden in World War II, which claimed high Allied casualties. A few lines of this are cut. Uncut version is on AO3.
> 
> Diesel playing chicken with James is an extension of their spat in "Toward the Dusk." James's sewing is also from "Toward the Dusk." Gordon's brothers, save Scott, being dead are a reference to his brothers being scrapped by the time the Flying Scotsman reappears in the series.
> 
> I switched out the dancers at the fire. Instead of Nia and Rebecca, it's Derek and Marion, as Nia and Rebecca wouldn't have arrived yet. I apologize for this not being an accurate depiction of what homosexual men in the UK went through in this period of time I selected. I think in the hands of a more competent writer, it would have been handled more properly, and it has been. That being said, writing this served as a way of my confronting a few of my own demons. I will not go into detail here, as I have in a few of my other works, but I will leave with this. I was a child when I was into this series, and my home life wasn't exactly "right," and wouldn't be for a long time. I guess that made this series something nice to turn to, if only for a little while. Coming back to it now, it seems my own life's shadows have bled into my interpretation.
> 
> Inspired by "Late Goodbye" by Poets of the Fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, remember when I said I didn't intend to write another Thomas the Tank Engine fanfic? Yeah, about that...
> 
> It should go without saying that not everything translates when writing a humanization fanfic. For example, in "Toward the Dusk," I stated that James "tore out" with his engine on his own during the events my interpretation of the episode "Old Iron," and wasn't able to stop it due to the controls locking on him. I suppose it could be interpreted as James attempting a derring-do, thinking that he could ride the rails on a runaway train. Henry's head injury is another translation I attempted, and I tried to break off from the fan tradition of having him share the same surname of his model's creator, Sir William Stanier. The locker rooms and the corridor between them was the closest thing I could think of for the shed and turntable.
> 
> This was not meant to become a chapter fic, however the length of it exceeded a one-shot. While this chapter follows the events of "The Flying Kipper" in the timeframe (e.g. characters like Toby, Henrietta, Duck, Douglas, Donald, and Oliver not appearing), the following two chapters will take place later on in the timeline. Annie and Clarabel previously being in the medical field was actually something I ripped from airline attendants, that being how during the 1950's (in the U.S. at least) graduating from the nursing academy was a requirement. I actually didn't squeeze this in to allow Gordon to pull a favor, rather it was to give more agency to Annie and Clarabel. Regardless, I had to drop a few elements from this fic that were making it become too large.
> 
> Several events in this take place before "Toward the Dusk," as this fic is not linear.


End file.
